Neal's Bad Day
by the little spanko
Summary: Neal gets himself into some trouble.  Written for ficwriterjet's 20 prompt challenge.  My prompt was Orders. ***warning: spanking***


This is an account, as you've _commanded _me to write, about my terrible, horrible day. I'd also like to take this opportunity to declare just how idiotic it is that you're making me write this. **This account is written under protest. **I'm a full grown man. I am _not_ a _child_. Are you even aware of that fact, Peter? It really doesn't seem that you are. Why else would you give me such a demeaning task? But if you need me to literally spell it out for you…

Everything started just fine: a nice breakfast with June, imported coffee – a splendid start to my day. I was actually in a very good mood, thank you very much, even when you came along and decided to be a power mongering slave driver. I really thought we were past all this, Peter, I really did. Those days when you treated me as just some criminal instead of your partner – you've said we were partners – I didn't do anything to deserve you resorting to your old ways. Regardless…did I take the bait? No. My behavior was the epitome of a mature adult. You took your shots at me in front of the other team; I looked down feigning graceful humility. I made you look _good_. No recognition. None. In fact, it only seemed to make your mood worse.

Those other agents were jokes, let's be honest. But I played ball, I went into that mafia cigar lounge and worked my impeccable charm and got the information that no one else could ever get. Despite the fact that I may very well fall ill with lung cancer in the coming years from going in there, I did it for the good of the team.

Was I thanked? No. But I guess that's to be expected. Still, this is where my nerves began to fray – but who could blame me? I'd been bullied all day long and had just faced a room full of mafia thugs, all by myself. Unarmed. So the fact that when I got back to the van I was a little quick shouldn't be a surprise. Ok, maybe I shouldn't have ripped the wire off and thrown it to the floor – it was just the adrenalin. I'm human and I'm sorry.

I also don't see how going to get everyone lunch was such a cause for alarm. I was coming back. I just wasn't given the chance. It was just my way of apologizing for the unseemly show of emotion I displayed when I got back to the van. Team building.

The fact that you segregated me to the corner of the van and marched me around with a hand on my shoulder for the rest of the day is very hurtful and quite embarrassing. Mother Theresa would have lost her temper if she were treated that way, too, Peter. That was very hurtful and was not at all necessary. Therefore, the blame for most of my subsequent behavior is on you for that one.

In closing, I feel that I showed a vast amount of patience with you today. It saddens me that you cannot see your fault in all of this. But as your partner my aim is to bring it to your attention. You will always be able to count on me, Peter.

* * *

><p>Peter finished reading Neal's account, a disappointed frown etched into his features. Neal sat on the edge of his seat on the Burke's couch, looking up at Peter as the older man angrily shifted his weight back and forth, clearly wanting to pace.<p>

"Neal, what is this?" he asked, shaking the sheet of paper in Neal's face.

"My busy work," Neal said grumpily, even though his eyes were slightly widened in apprehension.

Peter stared him down for a long moment. Neal swallowed.

"You know full well that this isn't how it happened." Peter's hands went to his hips.

"I disagree."

Peter exhaled sharply. Looking back at the sheet of paper, he pointed and said, "Our day didn't start well. Tell me why."

"No."

"Neal!" Peter towered over the young man.

"Peter." Neal glared up at him, exasperated. Peter had the better glare.

Neal huffed, "I've been _**accused**_ of …"

"I have you on tape!"

"No, you have a dark figure on tape."

They glared at each other for another long moment.

"As I was saying, I've been _accused_ of stealing a painting – _again_. " Neal looked up slyly, "That one's getting a little old, Peter. Give me some credit."

"You like paintings," Peter said simply.

Neal rolled his eyes. "You need to trust me more."

"I trust you as much as you deserve."

Neal narrowed his eyes at Peter. "That's not fair. I was minding my own business, and you stormed in throwing around accusations, ruining breakfast."

"If you are lying about that painting, you're gonna be _**real**_ sorry, Neal." Peter warned as he got in Neal's face.

Neal's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he huffed and looked away.

Peter caught it.

He moved on to his next point, again pointing to the sheet of paper. "Why was I upset with you in front of the other team?"

Neal huffed again, his lower lip protruding for a moment before he looked up at Peter. "I was doing recon work."

"YOU WERE FLIRTING!" Peter thundered.

"That's my technique!" Neal challenged.

"And did you gleam any information off her – _other_ than her phone number?"

Neal folded his arms and sat back in his seat, eyes focused away from Peter.

"Exactly. And what did you do when I called you on it?"

"Heeled to your side like a good little pet," Neal's words dripped with irate sarcasm, his eyes still avoiding Peter.

Peter studied him for a long moment, trying to reign in his temper before continuing. "No. Try again."

"This is stupid, Peter," Neal ground out, glaring directly at him.

"Yea, it is," Peter said darkly. "Now. Try again."

Neal again let his eyes wander away from Peter.

When it became clear that Neal wasn't going to incriminate himself, Peter continued for him: "You openly mocked me, in front of another team!"

Neal's eyes flew to Peter, his mouth open in outrage. But before he said a word, his mouth clapped shut and he went back to pouting, his arms drawn tighter around his midsection as his eyes again avoided Peter.

"Partners don't act like that, Neal." Peter chided.

Neal lowered his head and huffed, a faint heartbroken look in his eyes at the chiding.

"Didn't I tell you to wait for back up before going in to the cigar lounge?" Peter asked gently.

Neal's lower lip again protruded slightly.

"_Neal?"_

"Yes, ok! Yes," Neal barked as he fidgeted.

"Mmhmm, but you slinked off while we were setting up our equipment. Again, not what partners do," Peter chided quietly.

Neal looked up at him with puppy eyes, "Peter…"

"Why was I upset with you when you got back to the van?"

Neal pouted at him indignantly. Peter rolling his jaw angrily got Neal talking, "I didn't follow orders and could have been hurt."

"I was worried about you," Peter said simply, pausing to let that sink in. "How did you respond to my being worried?"

Neal lowered his head, "You know how."

"Say it."

"Your worry comes off as angry," Neal snapped, earning him a glare. "I ripped of my wire and threw it on the ground," he said, lowering his eyes. He could feel Peter stare at him for a long moment, and blushed.

"I get angry when you scare me like that. That doesn't mean you get to act out."

Looking back to the sheet, Peter tapped the page, his anger making him very animated. "Then what did you do?"

"I went for lunch," Neal said automatically, his body stiff and awkward with fear.

"Neal!" Peter yelled, crinkling the sheet of paper in his fist in anger.

Neal looked around the room with large eyes, "I went to get everyone lunch to make up …"

"Don't!" Peter pointed at him.

"You asked …" Neal started in a pathetic tone.

"NO!" Peter yelled. "Tell the truth."

"I'm trying!" Neal insisted.

Peter wiped a hand over his face and leveled Neal with a stern glare. "You weren't going for lunch, Neal. You were having a tantrum and ran off."

"Says you," Neal said sullenly.

"Ok, how were you going to bring back food and drinks for ten people without any help? And why did you go three miles, in the direction of June's, for food when we were surrounded by restaurants?" Peter took a deep breath and waited.

Neal opened and closed his mouth, and then went back to pouting.

Peter pressed his lips together, nearing the end of his rope. "It took me two hours to recover you, time I could have spent assisting the other team in interrogating the mobsters."

"…the mobsters you caught because of _me_," Neal chimed in. He gave Peter a self-satisfied look, but withered at how Peter was looking at him.

"Let's talk about the end of this note, Neal," Peter said, uncrinkling the sheet and again reading it over.

Neal's eyes went wide and he chewed at his lip.

"You blame me for your behavior today…you want me to admit **my** fault in this…Mother Theresa would have lost her temper too," Peter gave Neal a warning look. "Care to explain this?"

Neal slightly shook his head no, his eyes going wider.

"No? Ok, what about the beginning, then," Peter said, bouncing on his heels as he looked back to the sheet.

"Peter…" Neal started, but was stopped by Peter raising a hand to silence him.

"You argued with me all the way here over the facts of today, but you think my having you give a written account is idiotic?" Peter asked, his voice rising.

Neal just gaped at the building storm.

"You refer to me as a 'power mongering slave driver' because I interrupted the breakfast you were eating when you should have been at work," Peter looked at him with a raised brow.

Neal attempted a weak, nervous smile and then swallowed.

"You refer to yourself as a mature adult and as a full grown man, and ask if I'm aware that you're not a child," Peter said, dropping the sheet onto the coffee table.

Neal scooted farther back and away from Peter as the sheet landed on the table, his mouth agape and eyes horribly wide. "I may have been a bit emotional in my writing," he placated.

"I think you know what happens next," Peter said as he folded his arms and looked down at Neal.

"I'm not a child," Neal demanded in a near whine.

"Apparently I'm not aware of that. Scoot over," he said, bumping Neal's knee with his own.

"No," Neal pouted, again folding his arms angrily.

"I've had _enough_," Peter ground out as he pounced on Neal, twisting the young man's left arm so that Neal had no choice but to rise up off the couch. Peter slunk into the spot Neal had just vacated and tugging him down over his lap.

"Peter no!" Neal pleaded.

"Always have to do things the hard way, don't we?" Peter chided, grasping Neal's waist with his left hand and pulling him up to his hip.

Neal yelled and flailed for all he was worth, his big blue eyes shooting daggers back at Peter.

Fitfully restraining the younger man, Peter let his hand fly.

Neal was crying out from the first connection to his right cheek. Wide mouthed, air gulping cries left his lips each and every time as he jerked and bucked.

Peter knew the noise was mostly due to anger and guilt at this point, and kept right on spanking a dull heat into his CI's naughty bottom. As soon as Neal began giving soft grunts of pain, Peter began lecturing.

"I expect more out of you than what you gave today, Neal, because I know you're capable," he said as he continued to spank. "Today was an embarrassment, you should be ashamed," he continued, swatting away at Neal's sit spots, making Neal wiggle and mewl in pain. "You're my partner, but I felt like your babysitter."

"I'm sorry," Neal cried out.

Peter nodded and growled, "You're going to be. Don't you _ever_ put yourself in danger like that, especially just because you're mad at me!" Thinking better of it he stopped and began tugging Neal's pants down.

"NO!" Neal yelled, reaching back and slapping at Peter's hands.

"Yes. You deserve some shame for what you pulled," Peter chided, slapping back at Neal and succeeding in pulling his pants and then boxers down.

Neal wrapped both arms around Peter's ankle, his right arm resting on the top of Peter's foot and his head on top of that as a tear slid down his nose. "I'm really sorry, Peter," he said honestly…but also because he knew that once Peter started up again that the pain would be a lot worse.

"Try to remember that for next time," Peter consoled, raising his hand again.

Neal could feel Peter twist back, ready to strike, and tightened his grip on Peter's ankle.

Peter's hand landed, leaving a hot, tingling ache that smarted. Seconds later, his hand landed again and again.

The temperature of his rear quickly escalating, Neal broke out in a sweat and began kicking his legs to relieve some of the sting. It hurt, and it was only going to get worse. As the pain kept building, Neal tried kicking a leg up to cover his bottom for a few seconds here and there, trying to let some of the pain ebb off before lowering his leg again once Peter had lit into a different area.

"Stop kicking," Peter said calmly.

"Stop smacking," came the reasonable retort that needled Peter's temper.

Pulling Neal forward, Peter trapped both his legs with his own right leg and then started spanking again. "You _will_ learn, Neal."

"What, that you're a bully? I've already learned that!"

Until now, Peter had made sure not to use much of his strength, believing that the process and not the pain would be what would teach Neal. He realized he'd been wrong. Pulling Neal farther over his knee so that his sit spots were in a perfect position, Peter put his strength behind each swat. It garnered instant results.

Neal yipped and cried out in pain with each spank, clenching his bottom as he tried desperately to get away from Peter. "You're hurting me!" Neal yelled out in surprise when he found he couldn't escape.

"You forced my hand," was Peter's only response as he focused on turning Neal's bottom a deep crimson to a chorus of OWS and AHS.

When he heard Neal sniveling wetly, he asked, "How did you know I only had a dark figure on tape?"

Neal jumped, knowing he was caught, and gave in to crying.

"Where's the painting, Neal?"

"M-Moz has it," Neal said in between shaky breaths. "But I didn't lie! I never actually said I didn't take it!"

Peter stopped spanking. "What did I tell you you'd be if I found out that you took that painting?"

Neal looked back at him with owlish eyes, "Really sorry. …but…but I can't get much sorrier."

Peter smirked at Neal's horrible attempt at self-preservation. Patting him on the back he said, "Up."

Neal scrubbed at his face and bounced up off Peter's lap, a relieved look on his face.

Peter got up and pointed at the chair, "Bend over."

Neal's face fell, "What?" He undid his pants and quickly pulled them up, holding a cheek in each hand.

"If I have to wrestle you down again…" Peter let the threat hang as he glowered at Neal.

Neal whined, pleading to Peter with his eyes. Finally he acknowledged he wasn't going to win and slowly walked to the back of the chair.

Once there, he looked up at Peter with puppy eyes, "Please don't."

"Over."

Neal looked at the chair sadly, huffed and slowly bent over. When he heard Peter unbuckle his belt, and the subsequent whistling of leather through belt loops, Neal grasped onto the pillow that sat in the chair, burying his chin into it as his brows knit together.

"I'll never do it again."

"I hope not," Peter said, folding the belt and tucking the buckle safely in his hand.

"Everyone has an off day," Neal said quickly, rising up just enough to see what Peter was doing.

"Bend. Over," Peter said, irritation plain in his voice.

Neal quickly dropped back down, hugging the pillow to him again.

"You're getting fifteen; I want you to count them."

"Fifteen? Peter, no!" Neal gasped, rising up again. Seeing the look on Peter's face had him dropping back down instantly.

Peter put his left hand onto the small of Neal's back and pushed down, causing Neal's reddened bottom to be displayed for him all the better. Taking position, he drew the belt back and let it fly, painting a red stripe across the middle of Neal's cheeks.

Neal bounced and then stomped both feet as the pain blossomed. "One."

Peter let the belt stripe Neal's bottom just below the first, causing Neal to buck. "AHHHH….two."

The third stripe caught Neal's sit spots and had him dancing and twisting and hissing out a chorus of repeated 'ow's' before he counted, "Three – Peter, I'm sorry!"

The fourth stripe landed on the tops of Neal's thighs, causing Neal to shriek out in pain, leaning forward on the chair and raising both legs up in the air behind him. "I can't take it, Peter!"

"Back in position - what number are we on, Neal?"

"Four! We're only on four – oh Peter!" Neal whimpered as he got back into position.

"You're not stealing anymore, Neal. I'm not letting you throw your life away," Peter said before landing the fifth strip just below the fourth.

Neal wailed, leaning forward and kicking his legs like a child. "FIIIVE," he sobbed, pulling the pillow to his face.

Peter grimaced, waiting until Neal calmed himself. He let the sixth stripe of the belt land where the fourth had landed.

Neal flinched and broke down into loud sobs. "Six," came the muffled count through the pillow.

Peter patted Neal's back and waited for the sobs to lessen, and then landed the seventh stripe across Neal's sit spots.

Neal jumped up, grabbing his bottom and dancing in place as he wailed and sobbed, face covered in tears and blotchy red.

Peter put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into his shoulder for a hug.

"Seven. …we're not even halfway there, Peter! Not even halfway – I'm not good with pain!" Neal sobbed into Peter's neck, still holding his bottom with both hands.

Peter rubbed Neal's back, mouth screwed to the side and brow knit together. "C'mon Neal," he said, leading Neal back to the chair. Neal pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes and followed Peter's lead, bending over when instructed to.

Peter wrapped the belt around his hand again, shortening it, before landing the eighth stripe. It was nowhere near as hard as the other's, but still had Neal bucking forward onto the chair and kicking his legs out behind him.

"Eight," he cried sadly.

The ninth landed in the middle of Neal's cheeks. Still laying over the back of the chair, Neal simply kicked his legs out wildly behind him, throwing his hand back. "Nine…no more!"

Peter took his hand, making Neal whimper, and held it behind his back as he landed a halfhearted swipe.

Neal crossed his legs at the ankle and brought them up as he sobbed. "TEN – I'M SO SORRY!"

Looking down at the bawling man, Peter dropped the belt and gave Neal the last five with his hand in rapid fire. Neal kicked his legs as though he were riding a bike, flinching back and forth and ultimately collapsing bonelessly over the chair once Peter was finished.

"We're all done," Peter told him, rubbing his back awkwardly.

Getting control over himself, Neal scrubbed at his face with the pillow – not wanting to dirty his own shirt sleeves – and then stood up, pulling up his pants gingerly and staring at the floor.

"Why don't you clean up in the bathroom while I throw El's favorite pillow in the wash," Peter joked, picking up the pillow and turning away.

Neal looked up with just a touch of humor in his eyes and nodded. "Are we ok?"

Peter stopped and turned back, "Of course – you alright?"

Neal shrugged, "Yeah."

Peter looked at him slyly, not convinced. "You're staying for dinner. El will be home soon."

Smirking despite his pain, Neal nodded and went to clean himself up.


End file.
